


because sometimes our dreams turn dark and sour (but there's always light at the end of the tunnel)

by technicolouredmonochrome



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, please read the disclaimer in the notes before you read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3146336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolouredmonochrome/pseuds/technicolouredmonochrome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ashton turns ten, his parents buy him a guitar, all smooth, clean wood, and Ashton takes the gift from them with no small amount of awe and reverence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	because sometimes our dreams turn dark and sour (but there's always light at the end of the tunnel)

**Author's Note:**

> SO.  
> Let me just clarify, that the things that happen in this fic are in no way canon. The order in which these things occur are not chronological and does not correspond to real life (well, some of them do but not all of them), and the things that I describe in this fic happen for the purpose of furthering the fic and furthering the fic alone.  
> (For example, I know Ashton's grandparents bought him his first drumkit but for the purpose of this fic just roll with the "Ashton bought his first drumkit" that I decided to write in.)  
> There are many other instances of the above happening, and I know that there are many fans out there that know how I kind of cheated by making some canon things sort of not canon and how the whole story is kind-of canon but not canon all the same.  
> I'm sorry.  
> I just have to say that in the interest of this fic working out, I did what I could with the canon-not-canon thing, and then this fic happened. Having said that, this is my first fic for this fandom and I hope you guys like it!

When Ashton turns ten, his parents buy him a guitar, all smooth, clean wood, and Ashton takes the gift from them with no small amount of awe and reverence.

“We’ll get you lessons if you want,” his dad tells him, and he’s thinking of all the _sounds_ he can create, thinks of all the music he can play, his favorite songs already escaping from under his breath in a quiet hum.

He rushes up to his room after giving his parents a _thank you_ hug each and letting his siblings run their fingers along the neck of his guitar (his!), and sits on his bed, carefully balancing it in his lap the way he’s seen people on the streets do.

He strums it once, the notes coming out discordant and a mess but _perfect_ , and he keeps running his fingers over the strings again and again and again.

It’s all _noise_ but he’s going to get good one day. He’s going to be _amazing_ and rule the fucking universe with his guitar, travelling across continents and performing at concerts and bars and _he’s going to be amazing_.

 

* * *

 

(When he’s eleven, he sits with his guitar flat in his lap and drums a beat against the wood to the fall of the rain against his window.

Somehow, he thinks, _this is better_.)

 

* * *

 

He meets the band for the first time, and they’re sprawled all over the floor playing FIFA, and he thinks he can pass. They’re judging him, he can tell, but he ignores them and makes himself comfortable at the far end of the sofa, settling for watching both Michael and Luke snarl and quip at each other as they battle it out on the screen. He’s a little impatient, a little amused, a little annoyed, and all parts really fucking _nervous_.

He kind of wants it to be over and done with so he’ll know if they think he’s kind of good or okay or whatever, wants to know if _this is going to be it_ , the people that he’s going to stick by and chase dreams with, or if he’s going back into his garage and is going to be stuck down there banging on that broken old drum-set he’d barely pooled enough cash together to buy.

(He doesn’t tell them about his guitar that is tucked away neatly behind his bed, only to be taken out in case of emergencies, because he’s really fucking not-so-very-good on it but it’s an old comfort he keeps for himself anyway.)

They finally show him the garage where Luke has an almost-untouched drum-set waiting (and isn’t he just fucking _jealous_ , that someone like Luke Hemmings can afford a brand new drum-set that he barely even uses while Ashton’s drum-set is slowly falling apart) and he sits in front of it, feeling ten all over again and touching the snares with no small amount of awe.

“You okay?” Michael asks, and Ashton snaps his mouth shut and nods perhaps a _tad_ too vigorously, because Michael’s looking weirdly at him while Luke’s eyebrows are raised in a _this-is-a-really-fucking-strange-kid_ kind of way.

(He feels ten all over again; trying desperately to fit in with his guitar, trailing behind the more popular kids who never even spared him a glance no matter how hard he tried.)

“We should start,” he says instead, and feels a little proud that it doesn’t come out shaky and nervous like it used to, is all clean, confident, bold, and polished with years of practice.

Luke strums something on his guitar, all sleek lines of metal (a lot like him, if Ashton’s in the habit of being honest) that thrum with energy and life as the chord reverberates from the amps.

“Let’s see what you’ve got Irwin,” Luke murmurs, and Ashton puts on his game face and grasps for the rhythm lurking behind the chords that both Michael and Luke are coaxing from their guitars. It’s the tail end of a thread in all the music, but he finds it and begins drumming along, and just like the first day he’d gotten his guitar, it’s a tad bit discordant and messy but _perfect_.

They’re looking at him in admiration and it’s all _approval_ in their eyes, and Ashton thinks _this is it_.

 

* * *

 

(When he’s thirteen his dad sits opposite him at the breakfast table, doesn’t meet his eyes when he tells him he’s going to go places with that talent of his one day, tells him that he’s so proud of his boy and loves him very _very_ much.

Ashton thinks he’s done something good probably, maybe his teachers called his parents to tell them that the report cards they keep forgetting to sign are showing marked improvements, that he’d scored the highest in class in his recent history test, that he’s a great student in school, one that works hard and never gets a truancy report.

Instead, his father leaves for work and never comes back.

 

Ashton is thirteen when he learns that no one ever stays.)

 

* * *

 

Calum joins the band and Ashton’s kind of put off. He’d been trying so hard these past few practices, to get the hesitant, judgmental looks out of both Michael’s and Luke’s eyes, but Calum just kind of shows up and slips right back into their friendship. Which is equal parts unfair and makes Ashton feel all kinds of awkward, watching the three of them so in sync with each other while he fumbles around blindly.

 _You’re two years older than ‘em_ , he reminds himself. _Two full fucking years. They shouldn’t intimidate_ _you, you idiot_. But god help him they _do_.

They talk about things in low whispers that get them giggling and he can’t help but feel that they’re talking about him, and he’s self conscious as _fuck_.

One evening finds them all on the couch and they’re talking about first impressions, and that’s when Ashton learns that Michael and Calum have known each other for _forever_ , and isn’t that weirdly adorable? _No wonder they’re so in sync_ , he thinks, watching the way the two of them lounge against each other. He’s snapped out of his haze by laughter and he looks up to meet their eyes, brain desperately grasping at the thought: _what the hell were we talking about?_

And then: _oh. First impressions. Right._

“Your purple shirt was all kinds of ridiculous,” Michael pipes up from his end of the couch, and Ashton blushes hotly under his collar, feels mildly embarrassed and affronted. “But you were pretty damn good with the drums.”

Calum’s grinning at him from where he’s pressed against Michael and gives him two thumbs up. “They were so excited– like they couldn’t believe their luck in finding this hot, amazing drummer.”

“Shut your mouth Calum,” Luke mumbles and Ashton just grins a little, feeling more at ease than he has since he’d first shown up.

“No _seriously_ ,” Calum continues, pushing himself away from Michael and grinning excitedly at Ashton. “ _Seriously_. These assholes called me and were like ‘ _We’ve found a drummer, he’s hot as fuck, we’re gonna be able to make it big if we’ve got him_ ’ and I was like ‘ _I’m down for that_ ’.”

Luke grumbles under his breath and Ashton is acutely aware of the way Luke’s pressed up against him, all warm points against his arm that feels oddly _nice_ , can feel it through the heat on his cheeks and the grin that’s threatening to split his face in two.

“You didn’t play FIFA though,” Michael pipes up from his end of the couch. “Like _who_ _the fuck_ doesn’t play _FIFA_?”

“Luke’s not even that good at it,” Calum helpfully supplies, and even as the two of them devolve into an argument about the merits of FIFA, with Calum dragging an unwilling Luke into the conversation, Ashton just keeps on grinning and thinks _yeah_.

 _This could be home_.

 

* * *

 

(Ashton is sixteen and the sky is orange-pink with the setting sun, the clouds overhead tinted purple and lilac and violet, and he thinks, distantly, _this is romantic_.

He slips his hand into hers and she turns to him with a breath-taking smile, and he can see the part where her lip-gloss has smudged from where she’d been worrying her lip, but he can’t help but think _beautiful_ when she tilts her head to one side and grins.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she teases, and it’s all the invitation he needs before he’s leaning in and pressing his lips against hers, quick, chaste, and when he pulls away he feels the phantom slick of her lip-gloss against his lips, and he’s in love.

 

Ashton is sixteen when she tells him that he’s not what she wants and that she doesn’t think they can keep seeing each other and “It’s not you, it’s me.”

 

Ashton is sixteen when he learns that sometimes, simply _loving_ someone is never enough.)

 

* * *

 

They play their first gig and it’s _amazing_.

He’s riding the tail-end of an adrenaline rush, and there are stars behind his eyes from the lights and his ears are still ringing with the noise from the drums and the screaming crowd. There is a thrumming beneath his skin, all addictive and thrilling and mind numbing, so when someone presses a cup into his hand he doesn’t think too much before gulping it down in one shot. The alcohol hits the back of his throat and he gags on the taste, coughing up a storm as someone slaps his back and offers him another.

By the third cup, he’s too buzzed out to notice how awful the taste is, and all he can think of is _more_ , _more_ , _more_.

Michael saunters by with a loopy grin, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and Ashton’s last coherent thought for the evening is: _isn’t Michael too young to be drinking?_

The next morning finds him sprawled on a bed, and there’s a head of blonde hair on his chest and another person lying on top of his arm and his first thought the morning after is: _how did we end up here?_

Followed almost immediately by: _ow_.

And then: _that would make a really great song title though_.

A second look confirms that the head of blonde hair belongs to Luke; that Calum’s curled up against his side and is the one making his arm go numb; and Michael’s head is the one tucked up against his neck from where he’s spooning Calum. He thinks he should move, maybe try and get the blood flowing in his arm again and shift the rest of them into more comfortable sleeping positions, but Luke grumbles awake and hits him on the chest.

“Quit twitching,” he mumbles into Ashton’s shirt. “’m trying to sleep.”

It’s so reminiscent of his siblings that Ashton feels the sudden urge to press a kiss to the top of Luke’s head, but ends up pulling back at the last moment with a surprised huff. Luke’s already fast asleep again, eyes closed and jaw slack, so Ashton’s pretty sure he doesn’t notice the aborted movement, but feels his face heat with shame anyway.

Instead of dwelling on it (because if anything, these past few weeks with the boys have taught him not to overthink things, to take things as they come and hope for the best), he wraps an arm around Luke’s waist and holds on tight.

 

* * *

 

(Liking boys is a thing. Not a _thing_ thing that he’s been hiding and keeping secret for ages, no. It’s just kind of a part of who he is. It’s like, when he sees a girl and thinks, _wow she’s pretty_ ; he looks at a guy and thinks, _woah that dude is hot_.

So when James asks him out, he doesn’t hesitate when he says _okay_ , because dude’s a looker, and he’s never dated a guy before, so this is all exciting and thrilling and _new_ and he _can’t fucking wait_.

James has a great smile and bright, luminous blue eyes that crinkle at the edges when he smiles and a neat row of white teeth that he flashes when he grins and Ashton’s kind of smitten.

They link hands across the tabletop and talk about music and school and everything in-between. They know each other’s coffee orders by heart and spend late nights listening to Green Day on the radio. It’s easy, it’s comfortable, and it’s perfect.

Too perfect.

Because James tells Ashton that he’s going abroad to study and Ashton kind of knows an ending when he sees one. So they say goodbye and Ashton doesn’t cry. There’s the telltale squeeze of his lungs and the breath being stolen from his lips when James kisses him for the last time, but he doesn’t cry. He feels his heart break into a thousand pieces when James waves goodbye from behind the glass door of the airport. But he doesn’t cry.

Because Ashton’s not a stranger to departure, but he’ll be damned if he lets it destroy him again.)

 

* * *

 

The band gets bigger and bigger and it’s like the breaking of a dam, with the number of fans growing exponentially by the day. The YouTube channel they started out on has to be closed down and renamed, and now they’re touring with One Direction and everyday is a mess of bright lights and loud music and hotel rooms. And it’s great because the boys are really growing on him, with their quirks and their loudness and their general _fun-ness_ to be around.

If Ashton’s feeling particularly cheesy, he’d say that his life’s been all black and white and in-between greys until these guys came along.

But he isn’t particularly cheesy most, if _any_ , days, so he settles for being a nuisance with the rest of them instead.

Calum’s the one he goes to when he’s up for adventure. He’s the one he can goof off with, be silly with, the one he can hurdle over car hoods and play hopscotch at zebra crossings with. Calum’s the one he goes to when he just wants to run outside and upend a few trash cans and hold a fence-vaulting race. Calum’s the one he goes to when he feels like a small boy all over again, when he feels like the world is at his fingertips and all he has to do is reach out and _touch_. Calum makes him feel _free_ in a way no one else has, makes him feel invincible with the blood pumping fast through his veins and his heart reverberating loudly in his ears from the tail-end of his adrenaline rush.

Michael is all dark, blurry lines of greys and greens; that Ashton’s content to hang out with and not say a word to fill the silence in between. He’s a calming presence; somehow being _near_ him makes Ashton feel at peace with the world, like he can breathe a little easier and not have to worry so much. And the two of them quip and bicker like a married couple on their worst days, but it’s all in good fun, because Michael still lifts the edge of the blanket he huddles under at the back of the tour bus when Ashton wanders in late at night, unable to sleep and in need of company, and lets Ashton curl up against him as he keeps playing whatever video game he’s currently obsessed with, the quiet cursing under his breath becoming a lullaby for Ashton on sleepless nights.

Luke is an _enigma_ , with piercing blue eyes and perfect blonde hair and the smile of a five-year-old. Luke is calm and collected and cool; fingers deft on the strings of his guitar the way Ashton’s fingers never were, voice confident and sure and solid where Ashton’s is shaky and hesitant. Luke is bright grins and awkward comments that make Ashton laugh just to ease the anxious tension that gathers at the corners of his eyes when no one else says a word in response. Luke is a child trapped in an adult’s body; all sleek, lean lines of muscle, but who grins like a kid getting candy on Christmas when someone asks about his love for penguins.

 

(And if Ashton feels a little tugging in his chest when Luke turns to him with a grin, he thinks it’s because Luke reminds him of his brother back home, who grins like he doesn’t have a care in the world and who insists Ashton sings him to sleep and tuck him in. Not that Ashton sings Luke to sleep, even if he’s asked for it before, but it’s so eerily _similar_ that it makes Ashton want to offer the small space left on his bed to Luke, makes Ashton want to ask Luke to come over and _cuddle_ , and isn’t that the weirdest thing in the world?

So he sticks to secret adventures in MacDonald’s and dragging him into Keeks – even though Luke’s all kinds of awkward and camera-shy – and if the tugging in his chest never vanishes, Ashton doesn’t question it. Because this, the way things are right now, is _perfect_.)

 

* * *

 

The fans send them strippers.

 _Male_ strippers, to be exact.

Not that Ashton’s complaining, because the guy at the door is a _looker_ , and his arms are to _die_ for, with the blonde hair swept back stylishly and the whole police get-up. But Michael’s sniggering from the kitchen, and Calum’s hiding behind the couch, and Luke’s covering his face with a pillow as he slumps lower in his seat. So although Ashton wouldn’t mind a lap dance from the guy currently smirking at him from behind tinted lenses (and _wow_ , since when did his pants get so _tight_?), he thanks them, apologizes for sending them away, and closes the door with a click.

“You didn’t look like you were gonna send them away for a minute there,” Michael pipes up from his stool in the kitchen, the loud crunch of chips between his teeth accentuating the smirk he’s sending Ashton’s way. Trust Michael to be blunt and a right douchebag about the whole thing.

“Thought we could use the evening entertainment,” he replies, equal parts in jest and in hesitation. Because sexuality isn’t something that’s been brought up before, and he doesn’t know how everyone feels (or _will_ feel) about him liking boys.

Michael just shrugs and shoves another handful of chips into his mouth. “That kind of evening entertainment suits me just fine.”

It’s as close to an ‘ _I’m okay with your preferences_ ’ as Ashton’s going to get from Michael (and is that a _confession_ that’s hidden somewhere behind those words?) which makes him release the breath he’d been holding, the muscles in his neck and back abruptly losing its tension, and he grins – albeit a little shakily – at the way Michael cocks his head to the side, one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk, that Ashton recognizes as a silent salute and a show of support.

Calum and Luke don’t say anything, and Ashton feels a tad bit disappointed, god knows why, which he ends up brushing off with a small grin and a clap of his hands.

“So, who’s up for the rest of the movie?” he chirps, his voice sounding a little strangled and foreign to his own ears. If anyone else notices, they don’t say a word. But once the movie’s started up again Calum still curls up against him, head pressed against his arm, Michael on his other side with his arm pressed warm against his own, and somehow it makes Ashton breathe a little easier. Luke’s on the other side of Michael, and Ashton can’t see him, which eats a little at his insides, but he refocuses on the film and resolves to settle it another day.

 

* * *

 

(They don’t settle it _another day_ , but it’s fine. Because Luke’s back to himself the next day and apart from the occasional snide remark about some hot guy at the coffee shop from Michael, nothing changes. Calum’s still as cuddly and adventurous as before, Michael’s still brutally honest and comfortable to be around, and Luke’s still clingy and awkward and adora –

Nothing’s changed, not much.

So Ashton pushes that night out of sight, and out of mind, and goes back to working hard on performances and songwriting and album concepts.)

 

* * *

 

They release their debut album and Ashton is on cloud nine.

He’s also exhausted, and tired, and feeling sore in places he didn’t know even _existed_ from last night’s show, and did he mention that he’s _really fucking exhausted_?

But the album goes out on iTunes and despite barely being able to string a coherent sentence together he can’t mistake the bubbling and bursting in his chest for anything other than elation.

(And that’s a big word, right there, and he’d tweet it if he could just find his phone or even find the energy to get up from the seat he’s currently slouched in. But, _exhausted_ , remember? So he settles for preening quietly to himself and tucking the word carefully away for use later.)

The rest of the band is no better, all slumped in various sitting positions around the room, staring into space with a sort of dazed-satisfied expression.

“We fucking finally did it,” Michael breathes, making Ashton grin and give a short ‘ _whoop_ ’ in response. Calum lets out a breathless laugh, and the bundle of blankets that is one Luke Hemmings shifts with an echoing ‘ _whoop_ ’.

They fall into a silence after that, easy and comfortable, but heavy with unspoken content and satisfaction all the same. It’s the kind of silence that Ashton thinks he can live forever in; the kind of silence he’s only experienced _once_ a long time ago when Harry had been born, in a hospital room with his mum and sister and nothing but contented silence between them.

It’s the kind of silence that none of them feel the need to fill, and they spend the rest of the day lounging about in their hotel room, making the occasional remark about some tweet or another, and everything is simple and easy and Ashton can actually put a name to the warmth in his chest as he looks at the rest of the boys grinning absent-mindedly to themselves.

It’s contentment, and Ashton’s kind of glad he’s got the chance to experience it at _all_ (god knows the many people he’s met that never have).

And for that, he’s grateful.

 

(The gratefulness doesn’t last long, because two weeks later and he’s played the worst show he’s ever played in his life, and he’s feeling so angry and upset that he kind of wants to tell the boys that _he’s done_. No more feeling like a loser. No more being _not good enough_.

But these are words that are born out of emotion, and he knows he’ll come to regret it later, so he simmers down and sits in a corner and lets himself boil on the inside.

Michael doesn’t say a word, but still lifts the edge of the blanket when he goes into the back of the bus at 3am; Calum doesn’t say a word, but leaves a Kit Kat for him on his bed when he finally finds it in himself to drag his feet to bed; Luke does say something, a soft “Tomorrow will be better” and it sort of makes Ashton feel like curling up into a ball and crying, but he doesn’t, and instead holds on to those words like a promise inside his head.

 _Tomorrow will be better_.

And when he wakes up the next morning, the blankets pulled over him and Luke’s penguin somehow squashed up next to him in the small bunk bed, he thinks _yeah_ , _it’ll be better_.)

 

* * *

 

Ashton is eighteen when he meets Michael Clifford for the first time.

He’s at a party and the music’s loud and the lights are bright and he’s so drunk that _nothing hurts_. There’s a guy on stage with an impressive fringe rocking out to the music and Ashton thinks distantly, _wow he’s pretty damn good_.

Somehow, said guy looks up at Ashton and they lock eyes and it’s like Ashton finds love at first sight.

 _Platonic_ love at first sight.

Because Michael’s great, really, and his music taste is amazing, and here he is, offering Ashton a gig (a gig!) with two other guys two weeks after the party. The whole thing is clichéd as _fuck_ but they’re chatting on Facebook and Ashton thinks distantly _stranger danger_ but how can someone with hair as fluffy as Michael Clifford’s be anything dangerous?

It’s platonic love at first sight because Michael turns out to be everything Ashton’s ever wanted in a friend, because he can be loud and funny and quiet and contemplative whenever Ashton needs him to be, and there he was, when Ashton was eighteen and Michael seventeen, giving him the chance to do the one thing he loves and, well, Ashton can’t really say no.

Michael is perfect and amazing and Ashton sometimes like to think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t gone to that party, or hadn’t caught sight of Michael across the room, or if Michael hadn’t looked up at the exact moment he did. Because things would have turned out rather differently, and then he wouldn’t have met Luke and Calum and he wouldn’t have found a family away from home. He’d still be stuck in his dingy garage playing to a garage door with the neighbors occasionally yelling at him to _shut the fuck up_.

When the glitz and the glamour of _love at first sight_ wears off, Michael is just like a well-worn sweater with all its holes and broken threads. He’s someone with things, small things, that Ashton doesn’t think he can ever forgive him for (disgusting habits, his tendency to waste away in bed instead of getting out and _living_ ) but Ashton doesn’t try to patch them up.

(Okay, he _tried_ , but then Ashton realized that he wouldn’t be _Michael_ without these things so he kind of gives up.)

Michael fits into his life like he’s always been there, and he’s like Ashton’s favorite sweater, in that no matter how old and smelly and torn up it gets, he would _never_ throw it out or send it for a patch job because it wouldn’t be the same. Michael is something like that. Ashton accommodates to the mess that is the Michael-sweater, and finds comfort in knowing that he’s just _there_ some nights.

Although sometimes he wishes that he’d patched up some of those holes back when he had the chance to.

Like the really huge gaping one (otherwise known as: Michael is a blunt motherfucker) that’s making its presence known right now.

“You’ve got a thing for Luke don’t you?”

Ashton almost chokes on his scalding hot coffee ( _scalding hot_ , read: potentially _life-threatening_ ) and casts a scandalized glance around the coffee shop.

One Luke Hemmings is conspicuously missing, and so is Calum Hood, and the rest of the customers are sleepy old couples, that hadn’t so much as glanced their way when they’d entered. He glares at Michael, because _damn_ that was a close one, and leans across the table to reply –

because Zayn once taught him that you can never be too careful, “There are ears and eyes everywhere,” he’d warned with a slow nod of his head, before unceremoniously dumping a bottle of water over his head and taking a picture of a waterlogged Ashton

– “What?” and he hopes he sounds indignant enough. “No fucking way. Luke’s like a little brother to me. That’d be… _wrong_.”

Michael shoots him an unimpressed look, complete with a single raised eyebrow and all, and Ashton gets momentarily distracted with the thought: _I wish I could do that_. “Dude, it’s so fucking obvious. Like you’re so _gone_ for Luke it’s hilarious.”

He’s rudely snapped back to the situation at hand with those words, and he curses the telltale burn in his ears that means he’s blushing. “Nope,” he says, taking extra care to pop the ‘p’. “No way. Nuh-uh.”

“So what’s all the staring about then,” Michael retorts, leaning back in his seat with his arms folded across his chest, lips lifted in a triumphant smirk. “Or the lovesick looks you throw his way, or the always choosing to room with him –”

Something clicks in Ashton’s subconscious (a way out, Michael just gave him an escape route!), and he does a victory dance on the inside, while on the outside, he just heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes. “Is this what _this_ is about? You want to room with Luke when we get to the next city?”

Michael gapes at him. “Wha –”

“Cause if you wanted to room with him, you just had to say so,” Ashton continues, punctuating his statement with a pat on Michael shoulder. “Go ahead man. I haven’t had the chance to room with Calum either so it’ll be a win-win for everyone.”

He sips his coffee (a little smugly, if he’s being honest) and watches the way Michael opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, and with the blue of his hair, Ashton almost makes a fish joke. _Almost_.

But because Ashton actually _values_ his dick, he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

“Ash,” Michael says, interlacing his fingers and leaning forward, making Ashton lean away, “Dude. This isn’t about me. This is about _you_ and how _gone_ you are for –”

Ashton gulps down the last of his coffee in a final, ditch attempt at evasion, and with the burning in his throat and tears clouding his vision, he stands, the screech of the metal chair against the wooden floor loud enough to draw all eyes in the coffee shop to them, and he says rather loudly, “Well, that was fun. I think we should go now.”

Michael grits his teeth and stands (plus one for Ashton). “If you think we’re done talking about –”

“I actually feel kind of bad that you’re gonna have to room with Luke. He _always_ leaves a mess in the toilet,” Ashton continues as he flashes the confused waitress a smile before stepping out into the warm afternoon air.

There is the ‘ _swoosh_ ’ of the door closing behind him and he turns to see Michael frowning fiercely at him. “I’m not done with you,” he says lowly, but Ashton is familiar with this particular mood so he puts on his best _who, me?_ face and gives him a shrug, before turning and heading towards the place where Luke and Calum said they’d meet them for dinner.

When all Michael does is grumble a little and follow after him, Ashton counts it as an overall _victory_ in his head.

 

(The bad thing about well-worn sweater friends is that Michael doesn’t _leave_ it like Ashton thinks he would. He texts Ashton about it twice a day, and only when Ashton pointedly ignores it, does he take to forcing Ashton out on solo trips with him: to the grocery store, to the nearest Starbucks; and when Ashton remarks, drily, that for someone so glued to his phone half the time, Michael sure is fond of going out to buy meaningless things, like milk and butter when there’s _plenty of that in the fridge_ , Michael just shrugs and says with a coy little smile, “I _love_ spending time with you Ashton, what can I say?”

He’s pretty sure he must’ve looked like a dying bird right then, frantically flapping his arms and making vague ‘shushing’ gestures, but no one says anything, except for Calum’s one raised eyebrow – that Ashton gets distracted wishing he could pull off, _again_ – so he turns and shoots Michael the meanest, evil-est, glare he can muster.

He starts plotting his revenge.

The next time they land and have to check into the hotel, when he notices Luke making his way over to him, he hooks an arm around Calum’s shoulders and says, “Maybe we should switch up!”

Luke kind of freezes, and Calum is giving him a confused look, but Michael is watching him like he doesn’t believe he’s gonna go through with this – god knows he _doesn’t want to_ , kind of wants to yell “Sorry, just joking!” and drag Luke off to their shared room, but he’s got to man up and _prove a point_ , and “ _Revenge_ , Irwin,” he mutters to himself, “This is about _revenge_ ” – so he grins and grabs the set of room keys from Michael and starts steering Calum towards the elevators.

“I haven’t got the chance to room with Calum yet,” he calls back over he shoulder, studiously not looking at both Michael and Luke’s faces. Because it’s none of his business. Absolutely _none_ of his business.

Calum looks a little confused and terrified, but doesn’t say anything else or make any other comments, so Ashton thinks that they’re okay. When the door to their room closes behind them, Ashton lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and Calum comes up to him and asks carefully, “Dude, you okay?”

The grin Ashton cracks is a little brittle around the edges, but he thinks he’ll manage. So he says, “I think I’ll manage,” as he scrolls through his phone and finds the loudest, most obnoxious song on his playlist and gives Calum a knowing smirk as it starts playing out loud.

They end up having an _Unpacking Party_ , where they dance wildly to the music while throwing their stuff around the room. It’s the most fun Ashton’s had in ages, and he thinks that this change-up could be good for him. Maybe he’s just been spending so much time with Luke that all he can think, see, _breathe_ is Luke. Maybe this time away from him will do him some good.

But at night, when he says good night to the darkened room, and the reply doesn’t sound the same, it makes him feel strange and off-center.

All in all, Ashton can’t help but feel that this _isn’t_ the answer to his problems.)

 

* * *

 

Ashton meets Luke when he’s seventeen, so _a year_ before Michael, and Luke’s not his love-at-first-anything. Luke’s small and scrawny when he meets him at the movie theaters, nervously chewing his lower lip as Ashton’s friends take a crack at him.

“Those are some fucking hilarious glasses man,” someone crows. And the kid (that someone had introduced as Luke) flinches like he’d been struck physically, and immediately, Ashton feels bad for him.

“Guys, leave the kid alone,” he says almost unconsciously. When all eyes turn to him, it suddenly registers in the fog of his mind that _damn_ he’d just defended the kid out loud, and then _fuck, they’re all gonna hate on me now_.

Instead, Ashton’s friends just kind of shrug and shoulder-check him on their way out of the theater, without saying another word.

With a sigh, he squares his inner coward (that’s hysterical at this point, screaming “ _You fucking idiot! This is gonna be year one all over again!_ ”) and turns to Luke with a small, not really there, smile. “Hey don’t worry ‘bout your glasses man. I think they’re pretty cool.”

Luke blushes bright red but mumbles out a small “ _Thanks_ ” that Ashton barely catches. He gives him one last distracted smile and decides to just go on out and face his friends, when a small murmur stops him.

“Wha?” he says, turning behind because he’s pretty sure that the murmur came from Luke.

“I said,” Luke says, a little louder, “I’m Luke. Luke Hemmings.”

“And I’m Ashton,” he replies, sticking a hand out for Luke to shake. “Ashton Irwin.”

Luke takes his hand and gives it a shake, but Ashton is too preoccupied and worried to notice the way Luke doesn’t meet his eyes, or the slight hint of pink on Luke’s cheeks that mean he’s blushing, before he’s shooting Luke a final smile and wave.

“See ya around Luke!” he calls and rushes out the cinema to try and catch up to his friends.

(They’d left by then, and Ashton spends the rest of the weekend worrying and beating himself up about the whole incident. Monday rolls around and he’s preparing himself for the onslaught of mockery that’s sure to come, but his friends just kind of talk to him and pounce on him and ruffle his hair like nothing’s the matter and it sets Ashton on high alert the rest of the day.

But then the day ends and Tuesday rolls around and nothing happens. And Wednesday comes around and still nothing happens. By the time the week ends, Ashton’s all but forgotten about the thing at the movies, and his mates aren’t treating him any differently, and his head is just full of drums and school and he pushes his first meeting of Luke Hemmings to the back of his head.)

 

* * *

 

He’s seventeen the second time he sees Luke (through a computer screen, as Luke, Michael and someone called _Calum_ , sing Chris Brown’s _Next to You_ ) and he has to replay the video because he is distracted by the thought of _that kid looks familiar_ , and then he has to replay the video again because _hey, Michael knows that kid_ and _I could be working with him in the long term_. He logs on to YouTube and looks for _5 Seconds of Summer_ after Michael adds him on Facebook, and as impressed as he is by their cover, they’ve got some work to do.

He’s seventeen when he sends the message to Michael: _count me in_.

He’s seventeen when everything kind of changes, and suddenly ruling the world with his drumsticks in hand doesn’t seem like such an unlikely thing anymore.

 

* * *

 

Touring with One Direction comes to an abrupt end.

It’s kind of soul-crushing in a non-dramatic way. He and the boys hug out their goodbyes with the One Direction lads, and everyone’s just full of praise for each other. They all make promises to keep in touch, to let each other know when they’re in the same area so they can catch up again.

Ashton feels a little at a loss when they’re on their way back to Sydney, kind of like a large part of him has been ripped out. The tour had been such a huge part of his life, and now it’s kind of _over_. He isn’t lying when he tells interviewers that this tour gave them the biggest opportunity of their lives, and he’s incredibly thankful for every single moment they’ve had on the tour. What he doesn’t tell interviewers is how close they’ve grown to the One Direction guys, and not touring with them will be like losing a limb.

They have stuff planned for the future, their own tour, more writing, more radio shows and interviews, the lot. But not having the luxury of goofing off with the One Direction boys or just heading out for food makes everything seem ridiculously _different_ and he doesn’t even know if it’s a good different or not.

Ashton has the window seat on the flight home, and Calum’s wedged in the seat next to him, the bright hair of Michael peeking at him over the edge of the seat in front of him. Luke’s in the seat next to Michael, and all Ashton can see is the top of his beanie. It bothers him a little, because Luke hasn’t spoken much to him since he’s roomed with Calum. Apart from the casual “Hey” and the occasional “ _Ashton_ ”, they don’t have conversations anymore, not the way they used to when they roomed together. And sometimes he gets so paranoid that Michael’s said one thing or another to Luke and just –

So it’s with this heaviness in his chest that he goes home, the huge weight in his stomach making him feel kind of sick the whole flight. He’s glad Calum is completely engrossed in his music, because it means he doesn’t have to talk to anyone, and even though he loves these boys to bits, he does appreciate the occasional time alone to sort out his thoughts.

After they touch down and smile and wave for the people that show up to welcome them home, he hightailed it out of there, only giving the boys vague waves and yells of “Goodbye!” as he hops into his mum’s car.

He gets home and gives his siblings extra-tight hugs and then gives his mum an even tighter hug (god knows he’s missed his family) and he locks himself in his room the rest of the afternoon, playing the loudest music he can find and trying not to think.

(He sends a text to Niall, cause he promised to let him know when they get back, and he gets a _(:_ reply. It’s ridiculous that it makes him feel sad all over again. So he sends another message to Calum, asking him if he wants to head for the beach tomorrow, and then he spends the rest of the day lying in bed and staring at the faded band posters on his wall.)

 

 _It’s almost like my emotions have taken a turn for the worse_ , he scribbles in his journal. _A nose-dive, a steep fall off a cliff_.

_Am I ever going to get back up? Or am I going to feel this shitty the rest of my life?_

The pen ink smudges as he dots the bottom of his question mark, a black smear across the lines, and he spends a long time staring at it, feeling like it’s trying to speak some poetic justice into his life, but he’s not getting it.

 _Sometimes, an ink smear is just an ink smear_ ; he ends up concluding, and shuts the book.

His phone screen is still lit, the name _Luke_ at the top, and he re-contemplates inviting him along for the beach thing with Calum tomorrow.

“Sometimes, an ink smear is just an ink smear,” he mumbles, and resolutely locks his phone, watching the screen turn black.

 

* * *

 

(The beach turns out to be too windy to hang out at, and Calum says Luke’s been pestering him all day about being bored, so “Why not we go pick him up and then hang out somewhere?”

Ashton can’t really say no without looking like a dick, and besides, he’s kind of missed hanging out with Luke, so he says “Sure”.)

 

* * *

 

The bad feelings _do_ go away. They kind of fade into the background when they start getting busy again, and then Ashton actually deals with the fact that _this is going to be his life_ , and then they start their first headlining tour and everything is _awesome_.

Until it isn’t.

Because remember Ashton’s been dealing with this _Luke_ -sized problem by just staying away, but now it’s so much harder, when the boy lives in close-quarters with him and spends a lot of his time taking selfies with Ashton and pressing against him in interviews, bare shoulder to bare shoulder, and _fuck_ since when did Luke grow up and get all these fucking muscles?

 _This wasn’t part of the deal_ , Ashton thinks to himself one night. The rest of the bunks are quiet, and all the lights are turned off. Save the soft pitter-patter of rain, everything else is silent, giving Ashton the perfect environment to evaluate and possibly hate himself even more for the way things have turned out. _We were supposed to take on the world together, form a band and make kickass music and_ _rule the fucking universe_.

The rain continues its drumming on the roof of their bus, a steady thump that makes his finger itch for his drumsticks – god knows the kind of rhythms he could beat out to it. _At least_ , he muses, albeit humorlessly, _It’ll be way fucking better than doing all this pining and thinking_ _and shit_.

And pine he does.

Because somewhere along the line, Ashton _accepts_ that these feelings (the warmth that spreads in his chest, the squeezing in his chest, the way his insides melt instantly – and pathetically – into a puddle of goo) are not things he’d feel for someone _platonically_. That Luke isn’t his _platonic_ anything, is more his _romantic_ everything; because he wants to kiss him and hold him, and still climb up slides in Macdonald’s with him, he wants to curl up with Luke at night, and still sing loudly and _badly_ to their own songs together and just make a nuisance of themselves.

Because Luke mentions him in a tweet and Ashton gets all these _feelings_ in his stomach that makes him want to lie down and curl up into a ball for the rest of his life. Because Luke presses his face into his shoulder in _one_ photo and Ashton can’t stop thinking about the feeling of Luke’s lips and that _fucking lip ring_ pressed against his skin. Because Luke cuddles with Calum _all the fucking time now_ and Ashton just –

Ashton just _pines like a fucking loser_.

“So gone,” Michael whispers to him one day when he catches Ashton staring for too long.

And the truth is that Ashton _is_. He’s rarely honest with himself nowadays, but he knows he’s so fucking _gone_ for this boy that it’s not even funny anymore. Knows that the jabs Michael makes under his breath don’t even make him blush and stutter like it once used to, because now it makes him feeling sad and dejected and _rejected_. Which is pretty fucking stupid because Luke is oblivious as ever, and he hasn’t even _tried_.

But in his heart, Ashton will always be that ten-year old trailing after everyone with his guitar and desperately trying to fit in with his shaky voice and clumsy fingers. In his heart, Ashton knows he will never have the courage to say anything to Luke, will continue to watch and say nothing and pine from afar.

 

(And when Luke asks him to accompany him to a bar one afternoon, it’s an exquisite kind of torture, watching him flirt with a lady that leaves lipstick marks on his cheeks as he wraps an arm around her waist.

They get back to the bus, and Ashton isn’t sure which is worse, watching Luke blush as Calum catcalls and wolf-whistles at the marks she’d left on him, or Michael’s sympathetic look.

So he tells them he’s tired and excuses himself as quickly as possible.)

 

* * *

 

Michael _really_ is Ashton’s best friend in the whole wide world. Ashton should give him all the awards and then some.

He’s currently thrown a blanket over the both of them as they watch Family Guy reruns, a bowl of chips balanced between them.

“I can’t believe you like this fucking show and not like _FIFA_ ,” Michael grumbles, and Ashton is so _thankful_ for Michael Clifford that he doesn’t even say anything hurtful in retaliation.

The doorbell rings and Michael gets up to answer it –

“Lay back _down_ you idiot, you just had an operation to _remove a part of yourself_ , no fucking way am I letting you get the door.”

– so Ashton kind of ignores the low murmurs and refocuses on the show on screen. When the seat next to him shifts again, he looks up to find that one Luke Hemmings has replaced one Michael Clifford on the couch.

“Hey,” Luke says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey yourself,” comes out of Ashton’s mouth, and _god_ could he be anymore stupid? “Uh,” and his gaze flicks briefly to the door, hoping for a glimpse of Michael Clifford, “Uh what brings you here? Where’s Michael?”

Luke’s grin gets a little tight around the edges. “Just wanted to come visit you,” and he starts rummaging around in a bag that he’d brought along (that’s really fucking huge, and did Luke bring his entire _house_ along with him?). “And Michael said he needed to go get something from the convenience store so he left for a bit, hope you don’t mind.”

Ashton curses under his breath. Forget the fucking awards, Michael Clifford is a fucking _shit_ friend.

“I brought some things for you, in case you got bored and stuff, and uh, some food that I think you’ve missed? I dunno, you seemed to not like the hospital food much,” and he starts chewing on his lower lip. “Sorry I can’t really cook, otherwise I would’ve made pasta for you, and I can’t drive, so I couldn’t get pad thai for you either. I did manage to get popcorn for you though,” and he pulls out, possibly the hugest bag of popcorn Ashton’s ever seen, and his heart kind of does a little skip thing because _Lucas Robert Hemmings is fucking adorable_. “And, uh, I kind of know how to work the toaster, and though I’m not any good with cheese toasties I managed to make you like some pretty good toast? With vegemite, of course, and, uh, I’ve already spread it for you so you wouldn’t have to move around so much. I kind of burnt the first batch so this is the second batch of bread I’ve toasted? Like, uh, I left them in for too long and they started smoking –”

And Ashton’s just so endeared and so _thankful_ that he doesn’t really think about it before he leans in and kind of _kisses_ Luke as his way of saying _thank you_.

Luke’s staring at him wide-eyed and all he can think of for a minute is _what, what went wrong whathappened?_

And then: _oh god_.

“Oh god,” he breathes, and _fuck_ he’s hyperventilating. “Oh my – _fuck_ – holy shit I’m so sorry.”

Luke ends up blushing a bright red and doesn’t look him in the eye.

“Fuck, _fucking_ – I’m so sorry Luke I swear I’ll get over it –”

“Get over what?” Luke asks, and Ashton snaps his head over to him and his eyes grow wide because _his fucking useless mouth decided to go on a verbal diarrhea the fucked up thing_.

“Uh –” _oh fuck_ , he thinks, _I should really shut the fuck up before I say anything else stupid_ – “It’s nothing big really, like it’s a small thing, a really, really small thing – what a small and insignificant thing this is! – don’t worry too much about it? Like it’s nothing big that I can’t deal with myself,” and he’s aware that he’s starting to sound hysterical but _his mouth won’t fucking stop_ , “Like maybe, say _hypothetically_ , if I’ve been crushing on y – _someone_ for like awhile now I know that I’ve just got to stay away for a bit and maybe sort some stuff out for now and _fuck_ I’m so sorry for kissing you I maybe, uh, _hypothetically_ , think about it _sometimes_? Yeah don’t take me seriously I’m so sorry, my mouth decided to shit all over me today I have no idea what the fuck I’m saying –”

And then Luke kisses him, and Ashton kind of melts into it, because Luke’s lips are thin and warm and _perfect_ , and fuck his boy hasn’t shaved today and Ashton can feel the slight scrape of stubble against his own chin and he _wants this moment to last forever_.

“Does this solve your hypothetical situation?” Luke mumbles against his lips, and Ashton finally finds it in himself to open his eyes and _wow_ people weren’t shitting him when they said that someone’s eyes could dance with amusement.

“Yes?” he squeaks out, and leans back and kind of wants the sofa to swallow him whole.

Luke is still a bright red but he’s smiling (and is that a fond look? Ashton isn’t good with social cues _goddammit_ –) and if Ashton wasn’t _recovering_ he sure as hell would’ve run up to his room by now.

They kind of stare at each other in silence, and Luke won’t meet his eyes but he’s still smiling, so Ashton, for the first time in his _life_ , decides to be the brave one and ask:

“So you’re okay with this?”

Luke grins even harder and nods, and Ashton can’t help but grin back, until he hears, “Been pining after you for _forever_.”

“Wha?” and he’s kind of surprised but the grin won’t leave his face, even as Luke ducks his head and starts mumbling to the couch.

“Like I’ve maybe liked you since you saved me at the movies?”

And Ashton just feels his heart swell and he keeps grinning and grinning and grinning. “You’re adorable,” he says, watching the way Luke’s head shoots up at that, eyes wide, and it’s so _good_ to finally say out loud, that he keeps going. “And fucking _sexy_ like _goddamn_ all those muscles Lucas, and that lip ring gets me like _all the fucking time_ and I really want to cuddle you but I also want to kiss you senseless.”

Luke stares at him, open-mouthed, and then he just ducks his head again and mumbles, “We could do both?”

So that’s how Michael finds them, Luke on top of Ashton and he kind of does a little scream, before yelling about “ _My fucking virgin eyes goddammit_ ” (to which Luke quips that “No part of you is a fucking _virgin_ Clifford”) and then Calum is there and they all sit down and Ashton tells them that this is how it’s going to be.

“I hope it works,” Ashton mumbles, even as he interlaces his fingers with Luke.

“If it doesn’t, it doesn’t,” Calum says with a shrug. “We figure it out, we move on. It won’t destroy the band or anything.”

And Luke is giving him a hesitant smile and Ashton thinks that _this is how it’s going to be from now on_.

“Us against the world baby,” Michael says, stretching out against the sofa. And Ashton leans over and ruffles Michael’s hair, just to hear him grumble but shoot him a smile all the same.

“We should watch a movie!” Calum announces, and then crawls over Luke to get to the remote and they start bickering over which show to watch, leaving Michael and Ashton slumped on the sofa and fighting half-heartedly over the blanket.

(“Lucas Robert Hemmings,” he hears Michael whisper later in the middle of the film. “If you pull Ashton’s stitches, I’m gonna make _you_ need to get some of your own.”

And Ashton is laughing so hard, he can’t even find it in himself to be mad at Michael for being mean to his boyfriend (his!) but the edges of Luke’s eyes are still crinkled in a smile even through his pout and Ashton is _happy_.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at [my tumblr](http://rachelwritesfic.tumblr.com/) if you want to leave me prompts or anything!


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